


Frozen Dreams

by DRHPaints



Category: Conan O'Brien - Fandom, Conan O'Brien RPF, Late Night Host RPF, US Comedians RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heavy Angst, One Shot, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, mild alcohol use, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28291659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DRHPaints/pseuds/DRHPaints
Summary: Receiving bad news while off on their Christmas vacation at the height of 'The Tonight Show' upset, Conan deals with his grief, assisted by his partner, Molly.
Relationships: Conan O'Brien/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Frozen Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [damn_conan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damn_conan/gifts).



Swing. Chop. Split. Swing. Chop. Split. Grief fogging in the frigid air, Conan hoisted the axe, metal glinting in the overcast December afternoon’s fading light. As he brought the blade ferociously down on the log, though he relished punishing the splintering fibers, Conan knew the wood did nothing wrong in this clusterfuck of a situation.

Molly watched from the window, the pane’s spiderwebbed surface mirroring her beloved’s icy heart as she observed his deceptively skinny arms hatcheting in fury. Frowning, Molly pressed her hand to the glass, losing herself in the sight of Conan, his pale face pink with infuriated woe, flannel rolled up to his elbows, heedless to the effect the frost might have on his precious freckled flesh.  _ Fuck… He really doesn’t care anymore… _

Bundled in her purple peacoat and breathing warmth into her gloved hands, Molly crunched across the snow to Conan’s tall, flailing form. Conan didn’t hear her approach until Molly snapped a twig underfoot as he swung back. “Fuck!” Lowering his arm, Conan clutched her shoulder, clouds of exertion swirling around him. “Babe, I could’ve really fucking hurt you. Don’t scare me like that.”

_ It’s not me who’s hurt here, Conan.  _ “Sorry, honey.” Molly plucked at the front of his checkered shirt, trying to ignore the icicles forming amongst the sweat in Conan’s ginger hair. “I just...wanted to come check on you…”

When Conan got the call an hour earlier, at first she heard his reedy murmurs through the door. Then the shouts. Not for the first time over the last few months. Hardly taking the time to jam his large feet into boots, Conan stomped out into the winter without a word, Molly calling after him hopelessly. “Conan? What…?”

It was Christmas. They were supposed to be celebrating. Conan whipping up boozy eggnog, about the only recipe he mastered in the kitchen, all the while uttering ridiculous noises to himself as he danced around to holiday music he knew Molly hated, playfully aggravating her to no end. They rented the cabin to get away, to escape LA, the heat, and the arduous hassles of  _ The Tonight Show  _ debacle. But apparently their troubles had no intention of hibernating for the season as Conan and Molly’s presents sat ignored under the tree for the third day in a row. Neither woke with excitement on that gray morning. No. Rather resignation that the final decision would reach Conan before sundown, and nothing could be done to prevent the asteroid that shadowed their lives for what seemed like ages from crashing into him mercilessly.

“Oh yeah, I’m…” Conan’s cerulean eyes fell on the gargantuan pile of tinder surrounding the chopping block, more than they could ever use before the two of them returned to California on Friday. Cords of his neck working, Conan’s sharp jaw flickered, blinking rapidly. “Babe, I’m…” A toss of the axe left a perfect ghostly outline, hateful shape stark in the white powder as Conan swallowed, large hands flexing and splaying at his sides. “I’m...I’m not...” Voice tremulous, Conan hung his head. When he lifted to look at Molly, his thin lips held a defeated smile, gaze glassy. “I’m not okay.”

“Oh Conan…” Gathering him into her arms, Molly tucked Conan’s head down, all too aware that the shaking of his tall frame couldn’t be blamed on the temperature. “I’m right here…” Molly whispered, touching a kiss to the corner of his sculpted jaw. “We’ll get through this, okay? It’s…” Throat tightening, she squeezed his narrow body securely, molding again Conan’s tormented spirit. “I know it’s hard right now. And you’re dealing with a lot. But I’m so proud of you, Conan. Every day. Not just for how you’re handling all this, but for everything you do.” Pulling away, Conan’s red-rimmed eyes waited and Molly captured his quivering slender lips. “Everything you are. I’m so proud and I love you.”

Conan nodded, gangly arms enveloping her waist. “I just…” Inhaling, the air stung as Conan looked skyward, no answers for him among the storm-pregnant clouds. “I just...I never thought I was entitled to any of this, you know? This show.  _ Late Night _ …” Sharp chin ticking from side to side, Conan sighed. “It’s not that. I just…” Nose flaring, his lengthy fingers clutched at Molly’s coat, studying the ivory ground between them in silence. When Conan spoke his tone came out even higher than usual, breath fighting to leave his anguished lungs. “I just feel like I...I’m not good at my job. But at the same time…” Chuckling weakly, Conan’s face crumpled as he balanced their foreheads together. “Molly, I...I don’t know what I did wrong…”

“Conan, nothing.” Molly petted over his orange tresses, shaking her head and causing both of their faces to move. “It’s just bureaucratic bullshit. Honey, you’re so brilliant. And talented. Hilarious.” Cupping his crisp jaw, Molly pierced his crystalline blue eyes with heartfelt intensity. “You don’t deserve this.”

Pulling her into an embrace, Conan’s tears froze on his cheeks as they stood under the breaking sky, flakes floating on the unforgiving wind. “I just don’t want to be so sad and angry anymore.” Conan whispered into the skin of Molly’s neck, grateful when the circle of her arms cinched tighter around his skinny frame.

“I know.” Emerald eyes wet as she turned into Conan, their mutual exhalations condensed and created a tiny bubble of warmth. Molly held him, breathing. Just breathing.

Numbness invading his fingers he wished would transfer to his heart, Conan’s head rose. “Let’s...go inside. It’s cold.” Nodding, Molly took Conan’s hand, for once yearning for the dashing strides of his long legs that so chagrined her when she could never keep up as he slogged through the snow, steps shallow and broken.

Conan cricketed his palms together as he entered the cabin, toeing off his boots. “I think...I think I’ll make a fire.”

“Good idea.” Tickling under his chin, Molly formed her mouth into something she hoped resembled a smile. Even if merriness forgot to visit them this Christmas, she and Conan could pretend, set out the cookies of joy and hide the plate from themselves before the dawn of truth arrived. “You want a drink? Wine? I could make hot toddies…”

“Wine sounds good.” Conan mirrored her false joy. Shoving the hurt back, away, hiding the noxious gift of his perceived failure in the closet of his mind, hoping against hope not to stumble across the cursed package for many years to come. “Thanks, babe.”

Pompadour melted and sipping Pinot, Conan snuggled with Molly on the couch, red plaid afghan around them clashing with his blue flannel as she nestled under his arm. Room awash in the sweet scent of the hearth, Conan tried to lose himself in the dance of the flames, the rich tannins on his tongue, the warmth of Molly’s body.

But Conan’s teeth remained gritted, his sharp jaw highlighted. Molly could tell though he drank quietly, screams echoed within Conan’s incandescent mind while he stared into the fire, his wiry frame solid steel beneath her as she listened to the thrumming of his tortured heart.

“Conan…” Tilting her chin up, Molly’s delicate fingers graced his neck and Conan’s sky blue eyes required a moment to come down to earth. “What do you need?”

Mouth settling into a flat line, a futile sigh left Conan’s nose. “I don’t know…”

“I just…” Auburn brows knitting, Molly hugged Conan, fingers trailing over his little belly. “I know I can’t...fix any of this. But...I want to help you so badly. I wish there was more I could do.”

“Honey…” Planting a kiss atop her head, Conan gave her waist a jovial jiggle. “You’ve been wonderful. All your support?” Conan’s throat constricted, pressure building behind his eyes. But tired of crying, he nuzzled into Molly’s auburn waves, the citrus scent of her hair a balm to his shattered soul. “I wouldn’t have made it otherwise…”

Silent. Soft. Conan and Molly moved into one another, no words necessary, all tethered eyes and linking lips as she undid the buttons of his flannel, orange chest hair curling over her fingertips as she placed her hand to his heart.

Conan sought the solace of Molly’s mouth, kneading her thigh as he fisted into her auburn tendrils. Unzipping his jeans, Molly broke away merely long enough to help Conan inch them down his lithe thighs before claiming his slivered lips once more, sneaking into his boxers to claim his burgeoning erection.

Dipping below the collar of her shirt, Conan freed one of Molly’s breasts, massaging between his dexterous fingers and humming appreciatively as she stroked down the paper-thin skin of his cock. Molly drew up her knees, crouching beside Conan on the cushion and pecking his thin lips before gathering her red hair to the side and lowering herself to his lap.

Mouth encasing him in moist heat, Conan let his head fall back, let himself groan, let his large hand rest on Molly’s scalp. For a few glimmering minutes, Conan let himself forget. The show. The network. Himself. 

In that moment Conan’s brain; typically whirring irrepressibly with anxieties, ideas, jokes, proved merciful for once. Allowing him to focus on how Molly’s lips glided up and down his massive cock, drool trickling as she adoringly slurped. How her hand cradled his balls, fondling tenderly, fingers alternatively rubbing circles into Conan’s perineum to make his toes curl and his lungs hitch. How her tongue whipped around the sensitive head, pressing his frenulum with fervor until Conan’s hips rocked forward and he moaned with abandon.

“ _ Oh fuck! Fuck, Mol! Yes! Fuck! _ ” Thrusting into her slippery throat, Molly’s ever-encouraging purr buzzed straight to the base of his cock and he twisted his heels in the carpet, a high, needy note eking into the sounds of Conan’s ecstasy. “ _ Fuck! Fuck, Molly...stop! Stop…” _

Molly popped up, expression quizzical and Conan swallowed, summoning air into his lungs as he cleared the red strands from her face. “I need to be inside you.”

Eyes an ocean swimming with unspoken significance, there was no need to speak. Conan and Molly rose, hand in hand as they moved to the bedroom. Casting off clothes and worries, they joined on the mattress, Molly reassured by his weight, Conan strengthened by her skin.

Conan entered Molly, not with tearing fingers and mashed mouths, as accompanied many of their previous encounters. Nor were their begging whines or smirking teases. No. 

As night descended, blustery wind screaming against the foreign walls, scratching underneath the logs which appeared so quaint, until the two of them were trapped huddling beneath a quilt and reliant on each other for warmth; a fresh decade loomed on the horizon, contents unknown. Dark. Terrifying. But as their bodies united with a shared gasp, Conan and Molly knew whatever the future possessed, they would face it together.

Conan urged Molly’s legs over his narrow hips. He didn’t care that a different position might afford him better traction, a more pleasurable angle. Conan wanted contact. Molly’s wan flesh fusing to his freckles, and yet somehow never coming away stained with his shame. Always waking to her smile, Molly laughing at each and every joke (and Conan knew comedy well enough by this point to credit her mirth to love, not his humor, as some were truly groan-worthy) and flooding him with praise he stubbornly railed against.

Slithering his skinny arm between them, Conan played in the dew between her thighs as he swiveled forward, thick cock stretching Molly as she cocooned him in the succor of her limbs.

“ _ Molly...yes! I love you so much! Fuck, Mol… _ ” The twitch of her body around him intoxicating, Conan’s lengthy fingers fiddled faster, eyes shut as he absorbed the sensation of her clenching pussy, the sound of her urgent moans, etching them onto his bones, for those times when things became too still, too quiet, and Conan scrambled to remind himself of the arenas in life where he succeeded.

“ _ Conan! I love you! Yes! Yes! Fuck me!” _ Tearing at his tangerine tendrils, Molly brushed uncoordinated kisses to Conan’s sturdy jaw as her body erupted in tremors, ankles locking behind his back and crying out his name. 

Propelling forward, Conan whimpered like a man just learning to use his voice, coiling his slender arms beneath Molly. “ _ Fuck, Mol! Fuck! Yes! I love being inside of you! Fuck! You feel so good! Yes! Fuck!” _

Molly latched onto Conan’s mouth, smushing her breasts against him and rapidly pulsing her pelvis, eager to leech any bit of sadness she could from his tall frame as Conan ascended into high, vulnerable whimpers.

_ “Oh fuck! Molly! Molly, yes! Fuck! I love you! Yes! Fuck! Fuck!” _ The circuit of Conan’s svelte hips veered off course, Molly squeezing fervently around him in his final seconds and eliciting a singular, pure wavering note from his agonized body as he flexed. “ _ Fuck!” _ Eyes clamped shut and crisp jaw dropping, Conan shuddered forth, throbbing warm cum inside of Molly’s fluttering pussy with a huffing groan until he fell limp.

Conan told himself to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Capturing Molly’s lips for a thankful kiss, he combed the crimson tresses from her forehead, rolling off and guiding her against the line of his long body. Fingers flowing over his lightly muscled abdomen, Molly stopped. “Hey…” Molly placed a hand on either side of Conan’s chiseled face, gaze an anchor in the storm as she stared into his blue eyes. “You’ll get through this. I promise.”

Conan nodded, intertwining their fingers as he looked at Molly’s dedicated expression. “We both will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! If you enjoyed this story, please leave a comment or come say hi on tumblr at fandomtransmandom. I also accept requests!


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